Contents

• Introduction
• A Life in the Making

Introduction

As you may have gathered, things haven't always been easy for me; most of if, thank God, has been locked away in my distant unconscious mind where it affects me, but doesn't do any noticeable harm... This is the state I find myself in now in 2003. The depression is all but gone, leaving a blank page - a clay from which I can mould myself and my new life around. I'm not angry anymore, or bitter. No, I've had enough of all that. Now I just get on with each week as it comes, and worry about present things. Delving back into the past hasn't been easy lately - depression had almost turned my mind into a series of ghost images and echoes of a past which didn't really exist. Now the clouds have broken a little, I can look back and try to recall just what brought me to where I am now.  

1976 - 1980 (age 1-4) 

 I was born Daniel, John Waddington - of Irene and Herbert Waddington - on the 27th of February 1976, in Blackburn Royal Infirmary. We all lived in a terraced house on Whalley Road, Clayton-le-Moors; and in this house I spent the first 21 years of my life. My earliest memories are quite hazy. I seem to remember standing in a cot in a dark back bedroom, looking lonely out towards the light at the top of the stairs. I learned to walk by holding onto the fur of the family dog and walking around the front room with it. The dog was called Fettler. After that, I remember there was a holiday with my Dad - or at least I thought it was him. This was in Devon or Cornwall, and we were on a campsite. I must have only been very young, about three of four, but I can still remember we had put some of those picnic freezer packs into the large camp freezer, and my mum was complaining furiously that someone had stolen them. So we stole somebody elses! On this trip I had my first taste of Scrumpy cider. I remember being outside in a family area in the back of a bar, with wooden picnic tables and a golden sunset. I had a half of Scrumpy and asked for another. I got a pint! I was sick for a long time...

1980 - 1983 (age 4 - 7)

Somewhere around this time, I started Nursery school. I must have been about four or five by now. I remember I had a symbol over my coat hook to show that it was mine - a yellow teddy-bear. The only thing I had from my real Dad was a yellow bear, and I never forgot that. Apart from the one memory of playing in the playground, I can't recall Nursery at all. I do remember following my mum around a lot - even to the toilet - and this annoyed her quite a lot. At first I didn't notice that I didn't have a Dad. There was always a man around the house and I didn't mind who I ran into. My real Dad had left probably before I even recognised him. A year or so into my infancy, another man came into my mothers life named Michael (or Mad Michael as we later referred to him), who hung around until I was old enough to remember him. The earliest memory I have of him is in a darkly lit back kitchen. Mum was frantically trying to argue and defend herself from this man, who slapped and punched her around the room. My Mother collapsed crying into a kitchen chair by the door. I was next to her. He was raging and making all kinds of threats. I felt like I wanted to protect my mother from this man, but she was reaching a stage where she could protect herself. This man was later sent into prison, and I remember having to go along to see him in there. I don't remember seeing his his face in there, but I do remember walking through a grey brick courtyard and my mother saying 'He's waving a brush at us, can you see him?' I didn't want to see him, and so I looked away. After that, there seemed to be a new man in the house every few years or so. I'd just be getting used to one when another came along. I think Mum had a poor taste in men, or at least she always seemed to attract the 'bad' ones. Kevin came next, and he too used o hit my mother. On one occasion, I remember lying in a sleeping-bag on the floor of a hotel during a grey rainy week in North Wales. Kevin had come in drunk and both adults were screaming at each other. I pretended to be asleep but I heard everything. He was throwing a beer glass around, she was crying. What could I do? There was nothing I could do. Later on, they arranged to marry; much to my shock and horror, but, after a final bust-up, she broke it off and they split up. These are my earliest memories - and not too many pleasant ones among the lot!

1983 - 1987 (age 7 - 11) 

By the age of 7 I was beginning to find my feet in the world. I didn´t have any friends - preferring to say at home rather than go and play - but my life was more at ease at last. My next memory is the day I started Primary School. Mount Pleasant County Primary was a large looming red brick building set back against a large play field, and framed by large walls and wire fences. Despite this, the place felt warm and friendly, and I soon began to make friends. On the first day I cried my heart out as my mother left me in a class of new people. Another young man, Nicholas, was also crying. He turned out to be my best friend almost throughout these early years. I didn't mix too well, but as the years went on, I made friends with everybody in the class, and began to see a few outside of school. I remember being ill a lot as around this time. My mum told me I'd been in and out of the clinic with ear problems before this, and had to have an operation done on my testicles; but I can't remember any of it. What I do remember is being off school a lot with mumps, chickenpox, tonsillitis, and then just as I was about to recover, whooping-cough. That was a hard time, and I thought I might suffocate as I couldn't get my breath. Somehow things went ok, and after endless bowls of tomato soup and horrible boiled water, I recovered. My friends outside of school where few - two in fact - both young lads living on the same block of houses as I did. The first I met shortly after starting primary school, and was called Ian. 

We went exploring together and getting into all kinds of trouble. I was at least two years older than he was, but he was the one who led me astray. Fires were a big pull to him, and together we lit fires by a small tree around the back of where we lived. At one point, neighbours had to call the fire brigade to put one out. The other lad I meant a few years later, (about the age of 10), who was Paul. I was older than he was again, but this time he looked up to me, and I found I was leading him. Paul and I were good friends. He was good natured and funny - even though his family life was sometimes a bit rough. I pulled away from Ian as often as I could after I meant Paul. Ian now showed his manipulative side, and his darker and more destructive side - something I wasn't keen to follow. There were two other kids around my area - a girl called Cara and a lad called Kevin. For many reasons I didn't like them - and they showed exactly the same manipulative side towards me as Ian did. I was very innocent as a child, and could be lead anywhere - sometimes to things I didn't want to do. One time, myself, Cara and Kevin were playing on metal chains suspended between concrete posts. These 'swings' weren't very good - they dared me to swing back on one but I fell backwards - cracking my head on the solid floor. The kids laughed all the way to my house as blood came out of the would. I'd fallen off a swing and hit my head hard not long before - and I still remembered the sickness and long stay in hospital I'd suffered as a result. I didn't play with those kids again after that. 

I remember 'exploring' a great deal in those years. Seeking to know the immediate world around me, I'd go off and wander around the huge spaces of land which lay behind my house and stretched for miles on end. The earliest memory of this was when I came across 'the lodge' for the first time. This was a large standing lake of water hiding in a dip, not far from an abandoned brick-yard which lay beyond my bedroom window. I could believe this paradise was just around the corner, and played their until the sun started to go down. I followed the dog back home only to find my mother at the door talking to a policeman - she thought I'd got lost. After that I'd go off and walk for miles sometimes to find new places and play new games. The people in my life were quite few, but at last Mum found a man who I could relate greatly to. Walter was a very kind-hearted, gentle soul, who knew how to look after children and make them feel included. I didn't even feel I got this from my own mother! He used to take me out for drives and walks along rivers, and if felt good to be around him. 

When they split up, I walked miles to Walters house one day just to see him. He wasn't home. And his teenage daughter had to call my Mother to take me home. Looking back, I think the year or so we spent with Walter was the happiest time in my life. He even genuinely bought me gifts to strengthen our friendship - and at that time I was into He-Man figures. I enjoyed school, my social life was interesting, and so was my home life. Frank came after Walter, and he was a different kind of chap. Very thinly built, and short in size, but quick to laugh - in a kind of nervous way. Frank took us on lots of trips I remember, and I was sad to see him slowly fade away over the coming years. Around this time I had my eye checkup and it was found I needed glasses. The first pair I had were a horrible brown-framed national health set, and I couldn't see a thing though them. I was sure the optician didn't know what she was doing. Still, I had to wear them, and my eyes got steadily worse until I got a new pair a couple of years later. School life was beginning to be really interesting, although I knew I held myself back. The head-mistress used to like listening to us read to her so she could help us with the long words. I learned to read slowly at first, and then pretty well, but I always hid the fact from her, and read slowly and unconfidently on purpose so as I would appear 'brainy'. 

My first experience with water was also at this age (10). The school organized a coach to take up to a swimming baths once every other week, and I was scared to death of it. I just couldn't swim or get used to the pool - and I didn't really want to either. During a school break, a man called Bob invited us to go to Great Yarmouth for a caravan holiday. I didn't really like the place, and since I didn't mix with kids before I knew them, I'd shy away if ever there were any in the play area. Matters became worse one day as I ran down the beach and cut my foot of a shard of glass. But at this center they had a pool, and against my wishes, I was enrolled into kids swimming club which met once a day. After that I wasn't afraid of water anymore, and learning to swim was easy. I just learned to hold my breath in case I sank to the bottom! Frank liked to take me swimming - sometimes I'd go down with Paul - this became a regular thing for a while. I loved to swim underwater since then I could please myself and 'explore' without the people on the surface being able to see. I'd hold my breath for minutes at a time, and just lie on the bottom looking around. At least this was at a time before my eyes got so bad that I couldn't see without my glasses on. Things began to turn at school. I was happy but I just wanted more for some reason. More than what I got at home - which to me wasn't very much. 

One year, my Mum threatened that she wouldn't buy me anything for my Birthday if I played up again. I didn't get anything for my birthday that year. Instead I found myself stealing a pound from her purse just to buy myself something. I got caught with it, and put in front of the Head Mistress. I played defiant for as long as I could before I broke down in tears. A policeman was also in the room, and he threatened to give me a criminal record! There was an ice-cream factory at the bottom of the school road, which liked to keep 'samples' in a small fridge at the side of the building. We used to love stealing from that fridge. I didn't like the feeling I got when I stole, but I just couldn't help myself. But things hit rock bottom when I waited to sneak into the school store-room one evening. I filled a bag with all the things I didn't have at home; coloured crayons, writing paper, books, glue - anything I wanted. By the time I came out again, the cleaners were around the corner sweeping the floor. I tried to make a run for it but they saw me - everybody found out. The last year of school was a little different. I got my head down a bit and revealed the innocent self I'd tried to kill off with my fire and theft antics; but I still liked to put myself in the shadows so as not to be noticed. Somewhere around this time, I was hanging around my usual hiding place - the rear fire escape - when a good friend (Stuart) came up with two girls. I didn't know what Lee had in mind as he was just as shy as I was, but eventually the plan unfolded that we was going to kiss one of them, and I would have to kiss the other. I wasn't at all interested, and only managed to pull off one embarrassed peck on the lips. For some reason, I had never been drawn to girls.

1987 - 1988 (age 11 - 12)

During the last primary school play that December (87), I was cast as a Roman soldier, and had one line to speak throughout the whole show. That was the way I liked it. I loved being out of the spotlight, and did just enough to place my grades in the centre band for Secondary school the following May. I was glad I wasn't 'thick' or 'brainy'. I also got into the habit of walking home with Nicholas, and then taking the long way home along the canal path. It wasn't that I didn't want to go home - at least not at the beginning - I just liked to have my own space to do my own thing. Perhaps these were signs of my independence coming through. Again I found myself with few friends that summer (88). Paul was still very much around, but all the guys from Mt. Pleasant were now off doing their own thing. Now I began a new school (Moorhead High) I had to make new ones. Steven was a quiet, very unconfident guy who I got to know quite well over the next year. We'd hang around together most days, and talk about all kinds of rubbish. Other friends came and went, but I'd offen be seen wandering around on my own. The school ability system was split into 'sets' - set 1 being for the brightest pupils, set 10 was the remedial group for the kids who, for one reason or another, didn't learn very well. I began my secondary school life in set 8 for most things; a bit of a shock because I thought I'd done pretty well at primary school. Life in set 8 wasn't so bad. I quickly found an interest in English, Geography, History and Art, and found enough enthusiasm in these subjects to enjoy school through my first year. 

Computers were another attraction in my world, but I didn't manage to get one of my own until after I'd begun secondary school. Paul had an Atari; and I couldn't play on it long enough. When Frank was around, he introduced me to Dave - a friend of his with a Vic 20. I loved too play on it so much I'd regularly walk the 10 miles to get to Daves house on Sundays and stay all day. Sometimes Paul came with me. Finally, I convinced my Mum to shell out and buy me a Commodore 64 for Christmas. This was a dream come true, and my fantasy escape route could now be turned on at the flick of a switch. At long last I also began to get pocket money - only a few quid mind, but just enough so I could save up and get some cheap games. I had also been given a bike for Christmas - a black and gold BMX. I'd been asking for a bike so long that I didn't want one anymore. I played around on it, but I was completely afraid of going on the road, and so it stopped mainly in the shed. 

The new man in my mothers life - Harry - wasn't at all at ease with children, and as he and my mother went off into their own world together, I felt pretty left-out. One snowy day, I decided to go an mess around on the bike. After I got home again, my mother came in to say someone had broken into the shed and stolen it! That was the last straw - which gave me all the excuses I needed to spend my free time indoors and on the computer. 1988 Harry hung around for a while, and we went on holiday with Harry once the next summer - to a broken down, ant infected, dried up place miles from anywhere in an August Costa Del Sol. Seeing the world was fun; I hadn't really thought about it before - but then being left on my own in a roasting Spanish fly pit wasn't the best introduction to holidays - although I did really enjoy Gibraltar. Home life was a little dull, and I found I enjoyed school more than anything home had to offer; maybe that's why I did so well at school. Harry finally left the scene. It wasn't so much that I didn't like him, I simply found I was pushed to the sidelines whenever he was around. 

Thanks to my interest in English and Geography, I was awarded an upgrade at school for my second year. Now I was moved up into set 6 for most things, and set 5 for English and Maths. I began to mix a little more as I got more confident in myself and my talents. This year saw the begining of the little gang I knew as 'the lads' for the rest of my time at school. Among these were Simon and Lee; lads from my 'form' class, and Leigh and Kevin from lessons. If seemed like no matter which lesson I found myself in, one of these guys was in there with me. They were all a merry bunch; Leigh was wacky and very off-the-wall, Kev laughed like a maniac, Lee was the king of telling lies (bullshit-syndrome), and Simon, with his steady sense of humour and talent for being there just at the right time to share the joke, was the backbone of our gang. Other lads came and went as the years rolled on, but I always saw 'the gang' as the five of us. We didn't get into much trouble (except Leigh, who just couldn't help being a complete fool and 'mad scientist' around us), but what we did share was a common sense of humor and a great companionship. School would have been terrible without them, and I looked forward to having a laugh and a joke with them every school-day. I didn't see many of them outside of school - until I found out that Simon had a C64.

1989 (age 13)

I spent a lot of time on the computer thanks to a new colour TV - which I had insisted upon since the black and white box I was using wasn't much good for games. My friend Simon from school was also a keen C64 fan, and by now I'd got into the habbit of walking down to his house nearly every Sunday afternoon. Sometimes he'd come up to mine. I loved to walk down to Simons and play games all day. He was a good player, and he inspired me to play even harder to beat him. I still went out with the dog occasionally, but that wasn't so much fun now I knew my way around. We had a small terrier now called Gill; whom my mother would dote upon night and day - making it clear the dog meant more to her than I did. I used to hate that dog when my mother first brought her home - I kicked her around and locked her away until the dog hated me as much as I hated her. As time went on I wanted her to like me again, but it was too late - and now a rift between me and my mum suddenly got that much bigger. By now, Mum was becoming more and more closed to the world, and found it hard to show any feelings except anger, frustration and worry. To make matters worse, the dog would 'guard' my mother to keep me away - and get praised for it. From then on I insisted that my own mother had trained the dog against me. The only time I saw my mother now was after school and at mealtimes. If we did speak it was always 'what have you been doing at school today'. I'm sure every teenager goes through this, and every teenager probably thinks the same as me - 'nothing I want to explain to you!'. And so we didn't do much talking, or at least I didn't, my mother always had something to complain about work or people. She now worked in a flower shop - something she enjoyed - but felt unappreciated. Mum found a friend in Roy and we enjoyed a very much more pleasant holiday in Spain with him that September. He was in a wheelchair, again something which didn't bother me (my innocence in life meant I didn't really judge people), but the match didn't last long, and what seemed quite a genuine man was gone. 

To top that, my Grandma suddenly died that year, and even though I hardly remembered even meeting her as she and my mother never got on, this seemed to take yet another peace of my mothers mortal soul away. She was never the same after that. As for the rest of the family, there were a few of them around, but 'we' never talked to them. There was my great-great grandma (and a selection of her nine sisters), and my granddad; who we would go down to see, but rarely. Appear from these people - all on my mothers side, there was nobody else. 

That September, and my third year of school, I had qualified for yet another class upgrade, which meant that I was now in set 5 for most things, and set 4 for English (and I had to take German now as well!). This was the year I remember as the 'friends' year at school. It seemed like I had friends in hoards, and I enjoyed the feeling of being in a group of great friends. Leigh was now at his formidable best, and sometimes I'd spend an entire Geography lesson laughing my head off uncontrollably with him. In woodwork, Kev would be laughing uncontrollably at me. This was the year I really came into my own as a comedian. Looking back, it was also when the very first signs of Depression started to come through. I tried to tell the lads of the problems I was having at home, and the they found it all so funny that I made light of it, and played on it just to make them laugh. By the end of the year, the running joke was that 'I was throwing my Mother down the house stairs to shut her up'. I've no idea where that came from! It was actually good therapy, as every week Simon would ask 'how's your Mum' and I could tell him the truth as reality was so absurd it was laughable. What I did get was a new computer, a second hand Amiga 500 for Christmas. This was what I'd been waiting for - a fast, colourful games machine what beat the C64 on graphics every time. Simon had one first - which gave me a renewed excuse to go down every Sunday. Just like the C64, copied games were easy to get hold of, and so running these machines was very cheep. I made a friend or two through the Amiga, the they were all a solid bunch.

1990 (age 14)

I would say this was one of the happiest years if it wasn't for the bullying. Certain lads at school always seemed the pick on the skinny blond one, but this year their assault stepped up a gear. One in particular used to use my body as a punch bad every time I crossed his path. He used to intimidate me to the point of making me frightened to go to school - thinking this would be the day he would put me in hospital. I didn't fight; I didn't have the mind or the muscle for it, and so I tried to ignore him, even as he landed his blows on my body. This carried on for months but eventually trailed off. Kevin; the lad from around my way; tried it on one day but I was having non of it from him. I was angry and stood up for myself. He never tried it again, and everything seemed to go better from then on. I still played around before I went home. I got into the new habit of walking home with Leigh and staying until it got past dark. Mum used to wonder where I was, but I always came home before 8pm so there was no real trouble. I suppose one of the other reasons why I got into that group of lads was because we were all quite innocent. There was never any pressure to go with them into town to a club or scrounge a drink or a cigarette - we were never into any of that stuff - which I think was a good thing. At least I had enough escapism at school to keep myself together. 

But my work at school was beginning to slip - especially in English as I found the literature of the set 4 class much too touch to break into at this stage. If I'd've been introduced to it from day one, it wouldn't have been so bad. The teacher wasn't too encouraging either - not like my English Language teacher, who encouraged me at every opportunity. I had been used to living in disruptful classes for a few years now, and teachers had been known to have heart-attacks after teaching classes I was in. Now I was always the quiet one who never did anybody any harm, and as such I was the brightest in my English Language class. The English teacher was young, dark and very good looking, and I fell in love with her presence and soft voice. This was the first crush I'd had on a woman, and I didn't really know what to do with it. To mark the end of the third year at school, we were given 'options' as to which classes we would like to be in during our last two years. I had enjoyed art, and was around the top in my class, but I saw the course-work I needed to produce for the GCSE and thought better of it. I also dropped English Literature (a mistake in hindsight), and as many of the sciences and Languages as I could get away with. I have no interest in learning about things I would never use in the real world. 

At home, things remained much the same throughout 1990. Frank came back for a brief period, and I enjoyed great holidays in Keswick (Dec 89) and Tenerife (Sept 90) with him. I had my own room for the first time during these trips, and exploring Tenerife was a great experience. I tried to get out and about if I could, but I still liked to hang around my Mum and Frank as I wasn't too confident being on my own in a strange hot country. Even so, I sometimes found myself dragging behind and wandering yards in front of the pair trying to get away. I think Frank had a last attempt to 'get' my mother - which failed because I rumbled the plan to her - and we didn't see him again. I suppose I was still assuming the role of protector which I'd started all those years ago. Most of my efforts to 'save' my mum from all kinds of trouble were shouted down or generally ignored, but I had to make the effort as she often seemed blind to what was going on. My Amiga came in very handy to take my mind off things!

1991 (age 15)

Around this time I began to write a short story at school, about a hero who avenges the deaths of his fellow villages and goes off to infiltrate the enemies castle. The story was finally handed in as part of the course-work for the final exams, after taking a year to complete. Once again I stayed behind in school just to finish it. The story was flimsy and I spent more time re-writing it than writing it, but I was inspired by the Lord of the Rings - a fantasy world I loved to escape into. School was interesting enough to keep me going, and home life was tolerable. I still wasn't thinking about girls - which I didn't think strange or anything to worry about. All I thought about was fantasy and computers. My first video recorder (after my Mum bought herself a new one) meant I could now watch films in my bedroom. I was eating meals up there now and spending nearly all my home life in that cold and dark room. The room was always cold - as was the whole house, and my mum had the notion that the new central heating would warm the place up a bit - it didn't, and even though I now had a radiator in my room (always on full), it didn't help. But still I stayed in my bedroom, and I often joked that if I could buy a microwave oven and a fridge I wouldn't ever need to come out! Time moved quickly as I went into my final 'year' at Moorhead High School that September. I drifted away from Leigh and Kev and spent more free time with Lee. Lee was very quiet and softly spoken, and I used to get a strangely soothing feeling listening to him; - similar to how my English teacher affected me (it seemed soft voices were the keys to my heart). At the time I thought this very strange. I wasn't so innocent that I didn't know about gay relationships. Why I gay? Was he? I didn't think so. Lee eventually stopped coming back after school and whatever that feeling was didn't come back again.

1992 (age 16)

In no time, the final year of school was over. Soon the final exams were upon us and I realised at last how important study is in school - too late! The highest results were in English, Geography (I could have got 'A's they said, but I ended up with 'B's), Commerce and History (C, D). The rest were 'E's. And that was it. The end of life as I knew it. The playtime was over and the real world seemed a dark and uninviting place. I didn't put too much effort into thinking about jobs. All I knew was that I didn't want to go to college or do any more studying. I'd had enough of all that. And so I ended up signing on the dole. The dole was a very depressing. I wasn't in contact with any of my friends, except for Simon who because my one good friend. None of the jobs on offer interested me at all. They were all boring manual or office jobs, sales, or executive positions I could never dream of getting. Eventually my mother found another man. Tom was a jolly man from quite a distance away. I'd cycle all the way over from his house to ours on windy Friday nights just to be around. Sometime later he bought a car and we'd go up to his village sometimes for the weekend. Tom ran an allotment and racing pigeons, and spent most of his days up there with them. 

By the end of the summer of 92 I'd had enough of doing nothing, and on a whim, booked myself into a two year computer training scheme I'd heard about called ITEC in Blackburn. My mother had been patient with me through this time, and at last it seemed we were together at the bottom of the heap - without friend, family, partner or job between us. She seemed genuinely happy to see me getting out and back to some kind of education again. I think that was the last time we saw eye to eye for another 10 years or so. ITeC was no more than a series of offices filled with desks and basic training computers. Despite the lack of sophistication, I found the atmosphere of the place to be friendly, and I soon did well above the small wordprocessing, spreadsheet and database standard offered on the scheme. Here I meant a new friend called Mark from Blackburn. He too had a trusty old Amiga, and hated PC as much as I did. We also stood out as the tech heads who knew computers inside out and who could be called upon to fix things when they broke down. The scene paid about £30 a week (+ the dole) which meant I could afford those little luxuries at last. Quite a lot was spent upgrading my computer. 

Mum also surprised me by arranging another trip to Tenerife - just for the two of us. Getting back to the sun was a very nice change, and although I was instantly miserable just be be around her usually, being on holiday made all the difference. We didn't argue very much the whole time, and I could suit myself a lot more. I got sunstroke half way through the week, which left me with a terrible headache, but there was still enough going on to make things interesting. As the year went on at ITeC, I found myself in better rooms with more equipment and faster machines. The teachers were keen to try out a new desktop-publishing package they had bought, and only two people in the whole school were ready for it - me and Mark. We were given our own small office and the fastest machines to do DTP all day. Happy days! I friend called Scott also used to come back to my house after hours and we'd play football games all night. But I soon became bored in the small DTP room and I was moved back into a larger one with a class. One day, I was busy working away, and Scott was on the other fast machine on the next table. A new girl came across the room and began talking to me about Amigas (yet another intro through that machine!). She was trying to seduce me, or at least trying to weight me up, but I hardly acknowledged her. I still wasn't motivated sexually, and to me this was just another person. Scott ribbed me afterwards and called me 'strange' but I still didn't bother. Besides, I didn't go out to bars and loud places at night; and she would have expected it. If I fancied her I would have taken the plunge there and then, but I didn't get any urges then or afterwards. Still, it made me wonder just why I just didn't socialise in the same way everybody else seemed to do. For one thing, I realised that booze didn't agree with my body for some reason. Sure I'd been drunk before, and it was ok, but I didn't feel well with it. Surprising really, as quite a lot of people would seek escapism in drink in my situation. I think it made my depression worse sometimes - and that definitely wasn't a good thing. 

Home life was stale by late 92. Mum was now seeing less of Tom, and her Dad was also causing her headaches. She'd got back in touch with him since a series of life threatening symptoms had forced him to give up his social life and retire to the safety of his armchair. He'd gone on in this condition for a couple of years, but there was no telling when the worst would happen. I visited him sometimes in secret and listened as he chatted about old times. He was interesting to be around and I would have loved to feel the closeness of a real family around me - not just one Mother. Granddad chain-smoked and it was probably this the ultimately made the difference. 

Christmas arrived, and my Mother, Tom and I walked down to my granddads with a Christmas dinner. There was no answer at the door and we had to use a spare key to come in through the back. I hesitated just outside the back door while the others went in. It was as if I knew all was not well. I heard my Mother make a sound like laughter, and I came into the front room to see my granddad lying dead in a downstairs bed. Mum was distraught, and pushed me and Tom out of the door to phone the police. I'll never forget seeing has face as a 16 year old. I'd never seen death before, and it was shocking. Mum pulled herself together behind her usual iron mask - which stayed on after that - and sorted out his belongings and sold his house. Despite not seeing each other for years on end, my Mother never really fell out with my granddad, so she had his name written in the church Book of Rememberance - which she had been to visit on Christmas day every year since.

1993 (age 17)

After that, Mum had little interest in male company and spend all her time with the dog. I was happy to avoid her. But back at ITeC, the bosses had new ideas. They arranged for me to go on a placement to a Blackburn printing shop doing DTP. The manager instantly saw me as an office boy, and constantly ordered me from one thing to another. He was so highly strung that I didn't even feel like asking him any questions for fear of my head getting bitten off. Then of course I'd get things wrongs and get my head bitten off anyway for now asking questions! Several months later and I quit the job. I was only back a few weeks before they sent me off to a computer repair center in Rawtenstall. 

Now I really was in the deep end. They had promised me training - which didn't happen - and I was left to fix these machines with my own devices. The pay was good, and I managed to save quite a lot, but after a few months the managers got wise to the fact that I could hardly do the job, and sent me back to ITeC; who promptly kicked me off the course and back on the dole. Again I was left with only one friend, and my state of mind was going down all the time. I was stopped from being a great desktop publisher, and made to look a fool by people who didn't show me anything. I applied for one job after that - a carpet warehouse operative - but the atmosphere was horrible in there - and the big heavy carpet lads had little time for me. I could do better than this! I only stayed one day at that job. Eventually, desperation forced to me consider college - something I'd put off through fear more than anything.

1994 - 1995 (age 18 - 19)

So in 1994 I put myself on a BTEC national IT diploma (something Simon had done two years before, and the very thing I should have done in the first place), and had a great time. The kids were all two years younger than I was but that didn't matter. The class was a happy place and the people were so friendly that I wondered how I'd been so stupid to pass this up the first time around. The lessons were interesting, and I breezed through them after my experience at ITeC. We also got to play around so much that it felt like being back at school - but without homework - only assignments which could be done in class time. 

The second year of the course was even better. The course was also partly paid for since I was on the dole, but for whatever reason, the college insisted I get a job to pay the rest. So in April 95' I finally applied for and began my first proper job, as a Customer Service Assistant and part-time cook in the Accrington Asda customer restaurant. This gave me an extra £400 a month, and I didn't waste any time spending it. The first thing I bought was the album Rio by Duran Duran. Id always wanted to buy music but had never been able to afford it before. These were schoolboy heroes, and it was music I wanted to get into way back in primary school. 10 years on, and I could finally enjoy the schoolboy life I'd always wanted. After that, I went though all the 80's back catalogue - all the music I'd heard on the radio on TV as I was growing up - everything I'd missed as a teenager. 

Maybe my social life was now 10 years behind also - that would explain a lot of things. Almost completely behind my mothers back, I had arranged for driving lessons. The only reason she knew about them was because she was in the house as the instructor pulled up to the house for the first lesson. By now I knew I had to get out of that house. One way or another I had an action plan. First to get money, second to get transport, and finally to get a house and move out. I poured all my money into four hours of lessons a week, and the rest went on music and board. Mum was hard to be around. We were arguing all the time whenever we spoke, mainly because I didn't want to talk to her, and because I didn't want to be trapped in that house any longer. As a result, she became less tolerant of me in return. For some reason she felt like we both needed a break, and so she arranged her usual escape route - a holiday in the sun - this time in Crete.

Crete was a wonderful place, full of atmosphere and history. I did spend too much time hanging out around Mum this time. I hired a mountain bike from a hire shop and spent all day cycling my way around the north island. The weather was hot but I loved finding new places and going through wonderful countryside. By the end of the week my leg muscles were big enough for me to climb a few hills too. I don't think Mum expected me to be off like that, but I was finding my independence at last and really enjoying it. I would say that that holiday was the best I'd had in my life. Asda was interesting for the first year, and the support of the restaurant team was much needed to get through the job. Finally, after failing the first time around, I passed my second driving test. I'll never forget the day I came home from that test. For once, Mum couldn't contain her pride and was genuinely glad I'd done something she had never managed to do. At last, something was good enough. All though school, I'd hoped to get more than a vague 'well done' once a year or after an exam - and even then it was always followed by 'lets do better next time.' I'd spent many a long school year trying to please my mother, maybe now I realised I'd never be good enough. But now I didn't need to do better - I'd passed my test - not for her, but for me!! Just for me! Mum broke out an old bottle of brandy and I had one or two top-ups before I went out to stick the license application form in the post. The booze went straight to my head, and my Mum laughed as I staggered all over the place trying to get to that post box. 

My mother always said that she'd buy me a car if ever I passed the test, and that half bargain was now my trump card. She bought me an old red Ford Escort worth £350 and I paid for the car insurance worth £650. But I didn't mind, I treated that car like a dodgem - in and out of traffic and stop starting on a six-pence. The car had a reconditioned engine what was tuned to the max, and I didn't go anywhere unless my foot was flat to the floor. Yet again I would go the long way home after work to zoom down the motorway as fast as I could. The car was also a boon at college. All my mates were also getting their first cars, and we would all rush off into the carpark at lunch time to go for a spin. Not surprisingly, not long after I bought it I had a small bump. The damage was invisible to me, but the driver of the other car still managed to claim a fortune on my insurance.

1996 (age 20)

After a stay in the hospital to have all my wisdom teeth removed, I decided to go on holiday myself - on a driving tour of the South Coast. I got as far as Birmingham before the exhaust broke. It made a terrible noise all the way from Coventry to Newquay where I finally got it fixed. Because the Escort with a hatch-back, I could sleep in the boot quite comfortably, and ate from chip-shops and supermarkets along the way. Mum was worried sick it seemed, and I felt like I had to ring her every night or she'd never forgive me. After the trip I was a changed man, and life seemed much more bearable. I also went to see my Nan one day to show off my new independence. My mother and my Nan hadn't spoken in uncountable years but I still secretly kept in touch to keep a sense of family - at least in my own mind. That kindly old lady - now well into her 90's and still happily independent in her own home, was so glad to see me that she never stopped talking about it to all who would listen until the day she died. 

By now, my moods were beginning to show. I wasn't at all normal and I knew it. Home life was intolerable, how long could I stand it? I was saving money and spending it trying to find hope in material things, but it wasn't working. I spend hundreds on music and on the Duran Duran back catalogue just for the buzz of buying lots of enjoyable things at once. I'd then go home and covert then for about a week before the novelty wore off and I was back at square one. At work I had found a good friend in the girl I worked with on my 5 -10 evening shifts. Her name was Jennifer; a kind hearted, soft spoken girl, who shared quite a lot in common with me. She had a boyfriend and they were in a solid relationship, but for the first time, I found this gave me the freedom to flirt and have a good time with her knowing it was safe. Secretly though, I hoped she would one-day leave her boyfriend and I'd get a look-in. That never happened. I was also drawn to an older woman at work called Christine. She was kind of cute and had a great sense of humour. Again, she was married with two kids, but she liked to flirt with me and I didn't mind that at all.  In the meantime, the college course ended and I completed it at Merit level. Straight away I put my name down for a degree technology course offered by the college, along with my friend Robert from the BTEC. 

1997 (age 21)

The degree course was hard work, and by the beginning of 1997 I was struggling. I'd hoped it would be computer based but it wasn't. It included a lot about electronics and mechanics - things I wanted to get into - but they just weren't explained very well, and so I fell behind. The group on the course were also very different people from the BTEC, and we didn't bond as a group during the whole time I was there. At least I had Robert, and another girl Sarah, who I could chat to, and we helped each other over that first year. Unfortunately, having just scraped though the HNC exams, I was plunged into new territory once again, and as Robert and then Sarah dropped out of the course, I found it hard to keep up. 

This was going to be my third year in the customer restaurant and the novelty had definitely worn off. Often the nights were a constant rush as I tried to get all the work done and get out on time. I don't think I left work on time in all those three years. I was essentially the evening supervisor, and had to put myself in this position just to survive the days. The stress of having to thing for the others was a pressure I couldn't handle, and I was forever appearing to serve customers with a sour face and a poor attitude. Now I was struggling on all fronts, at home, at work and at college - I had no long escape routes to relax in, I had no friends except for Simon, and I had little to keep me going only the small pay-packet in the bank at the end of every four weeks. 

Asda took on several new staff, and a new girl named Liz to help me and Jenny on the evening shift. Liz was a very self-confident girl, who'd been around the block and knew her way around the sexual world. I on the other hand, was beginning slowly to understand the ways of the world, but knew little about the ways of women. Liz played her games with me and I hardly noticed, until one day, a few weeks before my 21st Birthday, she made a blatant advance in my direction. I didn't know what to say. She wasn't so physically attractive to me, and we didn't share that much in common, but I'd been saying recently that I really did want a girl, and that if one was attracted to me then I'd go with them. Now I was in that situation so what could I do except go along with it. She must have fancied me for a reason? 

As luck would have it, Mum was off on holiday (on her own) all that week, and so I had the house free. Liz and I got on pretty well for a week or so and I was at last introduced to the pleasures of real kissing. I was in my element and I kissed her until we were both panting for air. But for whatever reason I couldn't open myself up to her and she didn't understand me at all. A few weeks passed and I finally told her that I loved her, as by that time I had grown attached to out little frolics. At last she managed to convince me that I should go out with her, and so, for the first time, I bought a new green shirt and went drinking with her around Accrington. The scene was alien and I couldn't relax to do anything except drink. I was too timid to dance, and the music wasn't my style at all. Everything seemed to be going wrong. We moved around to different places but I wasn't enjoying myself and stuck to her like glue. Finally we went back to her place and sat on the sofa, She wanted more from this relationship, and she was going to get it. We kissed and she made it clear she wanted sex. I wasn't ready for it. I'd thought about it - wondering what it must be like, but now with Liz. Try as I might I just couldn't get an erection. I was too timid - too fridged, and she got upset and said I didn't love her. She said I was impotent, and that I should see a doctor!

I went to the doctors the next day, my head in disarray. I thought I wasn't really impotent, but I didn't know for sure, so he put me on the waiting list and luckily I saw a specialist less than a week later. In those days, before Viagra came along and made the process much easier, a doctor would prescribe a drug which you had to inject directly into the penis. I didn't know this, and as I sat in the clinic I was presented with this thing and told I'd have to inject myself with it for it to work. I was shocked out of my mind that I'd have to do this - to inject such a sensitive organ, and not long after I'd plucked up enough courage to do the business, I passed out on the floor. This was horrible, and I felt terrible, but I endured the thought if it if it would make things better. It didn't. A few days after, Liz told me everything - how she'd been playing me for a fool all along, and how she'd never even split up with her ex-boyfriend because he could satisfy her and I could not. She dumped me. I was devastated. I'd been such a fool, and by this time I'd started to let my feelings show - just in time to get stamped on! 

I wish I could have cried, buy I didn't - I just kept on going. I went back to the doctors less than a month later complaining of severe mood swings and depression, and this time I got a course of Prozac. At first, the drug was a welcome relief and made home life more bearable. But after a while I noticed I was closing myself off from the world - my mother said I was becoming a zombie. I just wanted it all to go away. What was good in my life anymore? I couldn't think of anything. I was getting into trouble at work nearly every evening now because of my 'attitude problem' and Liz was still there, rubbing it all in. I'd lost faith in the college course and I barely took notice of the lessons. I was so far behind but somehow I was still clinging on to it. At home I lived in my dark bedroom - only coming down and seeing my mother once a day before I left for college. 

The money situation was a problem, but somehow I kept enough to give me some hope. At last I put my name down on the housing register in the hope of getting somewhere. Nothing happened for a while but I did get a visit from a representative to evaluate my situation. Times were in turmoil and my head was loosing control fast. One afternoon I looked at a photo I had on my computer of one of the members of Duran. He was wearing makeup. Wouldn't I look good in makeup? I tried on my mothers in the bathroom and felt surprisingly better - as if I'd become another person. I did this for a few weeks: I even put some on to go to work in, and when the lady came around from the housing association, I made sure I had my best face on. I received looks and expressions from many people, and when I came out and said I thought I was a transvestite - ridicule. I saw what I was doing to myself and found even make-up fell short of helping me. 

Now without anything to lean on, I was hitting rock bottom. I kept the needles and the bottles of injection fluid in a paper bag. I didn't get them out again after that. At work, Jennifer announced she was leaving and moving down to the south coast. I was upset to see that girl go. We were a team, and friendship beyond words. We both knew how we felt about each other, but neither of us could say, knowing nothing would ever change. My beautiful girl was leaving, and the full impact of it didn't sink in until after it was all far too late. I thought about Jennifer for years after, wondering what she was up to, whether she'd ever come back. Years later she did come into work for a final visit - showing off her new-born and her new life. I was happy for her, and I let her go, but I never stopped wondering - what if? After that, I sunk deeper into the pit, and everything seemed to be bad news. 

I was saving to get myself out of that house and away from that woman, but first I had to buy a new car to replace the one I'd worn out with insane driving. I worked out the budget and thought I'd have plenty of money to cover the next years car insurance with the money I could make from selling the old car. The next car was a ford, but now a Blue Orion, which was bought and paid for one weekend November. The red car was put in the paper and was eventually sold for around the same price as we'd paid for it. But when it came for me to take the money, my mother took it instead. 'I paid for the car so it's my money!', she claimed. But it was a present to me - so it was my car and my money!!! I was furious and argued until things just couldn't get any worse. How could she do this with my car? She didn't see it this way at all, and although it put me back a few months, it only made my determination to leave all the stronger.

1998 (age 22)

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. All the little things where piling on top of all the big things; and making my life a living hell. I just had to get out and change for the sake of my life. At last I had a few leads for rented houses, and I went to see one again behind my mothers back. It wasn't big enough for me, and even though I was sorely tempted I just knew I couldn't put up with that flat. Days later, my mother dragged me into town to help her carry the shopping home - yet another mind-numbing ordeal I had to put up with every every so often. I hated walking around with her, and nine times out of ten we'd be arguing and shouting before we got home. This day she actually said it. She'd said the words before but now she really meant it with a passion. 'Well, if you don't like it then why don't you just leave!!'. In a state of anger, I forced myself to say to her face that I was leaving, and that I'd already been looking at places. She tried to shrug it off as usual and change the conversation back to her and her miserable worries, but I wasn't having it this time, and I knew deep down she was put out by it. We went up to an estate-agents nearby and I asked to see another property; one not too far from the last flat, and on the same road I eventually moved onto. We went up to view it together. My mother was strangely quiet as I looked around this four room terrace. The back door was burned and there was rubbish in the yard. That was all my mother could say, and almost convinced me to avoid it based on these pathetic reasons. But again I had the feeling I wouldn't be happy there - just some intuition. 

A few days later I arranged to see another property, and again my mum came along, although this time I hardly noticed her. The agent showed me around but at once I knew this was the one. It was warm, cheap and spacious, and I couldn't wait to move it. By co-incidence, the back door had also been burned to ashes, but even my mother had to agree that this place was good enough to move into. Less than a week later I'd put up the deposit and, on a grey cloudy Monday morning - while my mother was at work - I called a removal van and emptied that prison of all the things I truly owned. I was blind by now. I couldn't see the past, present or future, but I knew I was going the right thing. The small bedroom I'd known for 21 years was now empty, and seemed to echo with a deathly chill when I went in there. No life remained - no trace that anyone had tried to exist there, not even the warmth of invitation hung in the air or on that dark space in between. I couldn't bear it; I had to go, but something held me back one last time. 

When my mother get home around 1pm, I was sitting in her place on the settee with my coat wrapped tightly around my narrow frame. She began to talk almost to herself as usual, and almost before she closed the door she knew something was wrong. 'I'm going', I said, 'I'm moving out'. The cold ran through my blank stare, and she knew I wasn't coming back. 'No!', she cried, and ran upstairs to check the bedroom. From my seat I heard a cry that reminded me of the time we'd found my Granddad in his death bed. I didn't hang around, and was half way to the door when my mothers footsteps caught me up. She asked me a few questions but my mind was in a haze and I remember little more until I finally got into my new house and locked the door shut! 

It was still only February - mere days after my 22nd Birthday. I had barely enough to make do with, but that was enough. My friends at work all rallied around to give me things and help to make my life a little easier. Through them I got in touch with a second-hand furniture charity which gave out donated goods to help set up a new home for those who couldn't afford it. I waited in the rain one Thursday to pick up a brown three piece suit, a gas oven, and a golden rug for the fireplace. I'd also saved just enough money to set me up - and over the next few months I bought a secondhand fridge-freezer, vacuum, washer and a microwave oven. The next door neighbours gave me a huge wooden side-board cabinet for the front room, and people at work sent along small electricals and assorted oddments. I didn't worry about wallpaper and carpets as the rooms were all comfortable with the ones already there, and in no time I had a new home. A month later I applied for a new job at work and moved out of the Asda Customer Restaurant. I was now on the Beers, Wines and Spirits section, and along with two or three other lads of my age, I felt the move was for the better, and felt all the better for it. 

But, despite changing my car, my home and my job, I still couldn't get away from the ghosts of the past. I'd wake up in cold sweats after the recurring dream of being trapped inside that old cold, dark bedroom. By now I had stopped taking the pills for depression, but something had to be done. Back to the doctors I went, and this time he prescribed a course of counseling and more pills. The pills did little, but I dutifully went along to see this counselor every week or 12 weeks. She was a nice lady, once again so softly-spoken that her voice lulled me into a warm lullaby, and strangely, she looked a bit like my English teacher. 

The second years exams were now on at college and I knew nothing. I obediently read up on all the HND's written work I had copied down over the year in an attempt to pass the exam, but really I couldn't care less. Strangely, I found the exam questions were the same as the answers I had in my notes, and with a little more effort, I could have passed them. But I didn't. I just didn't quite remember I hated it. The class hadn't bonded since day one, and I felt very alone. And so, on the second week of the exams, I quite the course. My counselor asked me how I felt about this, and really it didn't bother me.  It left a hole alright, but took all that heavy learning régime away with it.  I left it behind, along with that chapter in my life, and didn't look back. I'd had enough of computers anyway. I was sick to death of them! For whatever reason, I had to move on. 

That summer was a mixed bag of extremely high and impossibly low. The counselling wasn't helping as I was still going down-hill very fast - I couldn't be helped while I was going down. Home life was strange in that for the first time I was able to life my life and do my own thing, just for me. Slowly, the memories of 'home' faded into a blackness which got deeper and deeper, until I couldn't remember my mother at all. I didn't call her and didn't have any feeling towards her at all. In fact I was glad, glad to see the back of that horrible house and all those rotten memories for good! I was glad to put Liz to one side. I was glad to paint over my sexual inadequacies. I was glad to fade into the depths of the world - to hide away in the shadows where no-one, not even I, could reach in to pull me out. Work on Wines and Spirits was fine to begin with. The lads I joined were a good bunch, and I had a laugh sometimes at their anarchy. It was the only time I laughed in my life and I was glad for it. But my head was on a rollercoaster up and down, down and then up a little - all day, every day. 

Within that year, the group of us broke up, and as the others went to find other work, the feeling of welcome slowly left that department. The guy I was working with; a down-to-earth Asian man called Shab; once gave me a line that I shall never forget. He said "Sometimes Dan, your great to work with - your a good laugh and everything's great; and sometimes you're a real bastard!" That summed up my moods very well. Some days I could laugh things off and paint over my face with a brave smile. Other times I was torn and wrecked - washed up on the black rocks of my inner world. 

Simon was the only one who came around to see me, and the only link I had to the old world I new remembered little of. One day he came around to find the curtains drawn and a sea of junk in the front room, and reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a dark brown block. "Have you ever tried Cannabis?", he asked. I hadn't, and really didn't want to get involved with drugs at all. That was the last thing I needed. But he insisted and put some into a yogurt. I ate it under duress and with a little fear of what was to come. An hour or so later I started laughing. I laughed and laughed so much that I crumpled into Simon as he sat next to me on the sofa. I just couldn't stop, and that feeling was a good feeling. I made contact with a small-time dealer at work and convinced him that I wanted to try it. I came home with me one day and showed me how to make a pipe from a coke can. From then on I was hooked. Every nights I'd light a boulder on this old coke can - and every night the boulder would get bigger and bigger. I was whacked. The ultimate escape act. The complete disappearance of my sensual world and back to the safety of a dream state where no harm could come. 

Through the use of that drug, I began thinking about my life more, and about sex and especially masturbation. I'd never tried it. Well, I tell a lie, I had tried it sometime a year or so before, while I laid in my bed at the old house. I'd got hot and sweaty, and a strange feeling came over me what wasn't all pleasant - just strange. I didn't like it. But now things were different, and a I could do what the hell I wanted. One night just before the counselling sessions ended, I took my usual dose of 'medicine' and got an erection. Cannabis did this to me if it was good stuff, and this was good stuff! I played around on the sofa a while and again those feelings washed into my brain. But this time, thanks to the extra sensory feelings I was given through the drug, I felt pure pleasure - ecstasy... It felt like the most wonderful feeling I'd ever experienced in my whole life! And then afterwards I was left with echos of this feeling running up and down my body, and almost making me scream with intense pleasurable pain. I went back to tell the counsellor and she gave me a little 'well done' - I was just glad to have taken the first step. After that I practiced often - as you can imagine. But it was difficult at the best of times since I had to concentrate on woman and their attractiveness very hard to get anywhere at all. I'd had so little contact with the opposite sex that femininity barely turned me on. Again I wondered what the hell I was - Gay or Straight - or nothing at all.

1999 (age 23)

These feelings got worse and worse over the next year. Slowly and steadily I felt like I was loosing control again - there was little which held my mind together except a vague hope of a possible future. Work was a pain. Boring and heavy lifting, and I was now having fewer and fewer 'good days' - they all seemed to be miserable. At home I was leaning more and more on the Cannabis; so much so that I had to take it every night just to keep going. At work I'd only be looking forward to getting hone so that I could take myself away from the world and sink back into the limbo. The depression would spin my head like whirl-wind. Things people said to me or things I thought about saying to other people would repeat endlessly around my mind endlessly until they drove me crazy. My life was heading nowhere. Still things kept me thinking about my sexuality, and my manhood, and my complete lack of drive or understanding for women. I always appeared miserable, and I looked around for girls who also looked miserable in the hope that we had something in common.

I did ask one girl out this year (after plucking up courage for a long time), but she didn't want to know. I felt so inadequate that I was beginning to believe I was a complete failure - and my life felt to me like a complete waste of time. Was I gay? How could it be? But I'd always wanted kids. And now I couldn't have them. I thought I was deformed - not like other people at all. And now I couldn't have children. And whoever I would meet would want them. And I felt so alone. So alone at work just thinking about these things over and over and over again, until my head way spinning on the same though and the same line for minutes or hours. My life was worth nothing. What could I bring to the world? Nothing! The high pallet shelves in the Asda warehouse now seemed very inviting. They were tall, as high as a house, and I climbed them everyday and looked out. I Looked down at the floor and just wondered, just wondered what it would be like to jump off - to jump and to end it all. One fall, one step and it would be all over. Easy. And then people would see. They'd see what I had to go through, and they'd feel sorry, and realise that I'd cried for help. But then I'd be free, free of all this misery at last. Free to escape. Free to die.... 

I never did jump off. Something held me back. Just something. In desperation I visited a local psychic fair hoping to get a more positive outlook. I'd given my Mum one phone call in all this time, and we agreed to go to this place together. I paid her no attention, or treated her with scorn. At last i sat in front of a psychic named Emily and ordered the full works off the sheet - palmistry, cards, ribbons and the crystal ball. I was vaguely interested in all this stuff, and wondered whether it worked. Emily seemed a kind lady and told me lots about my future to give me a more positive outlook, but as the year can to a close and the next began to open, I lost faith in her reading and put the whole experience down to a waste of money. New people came and went on the department - and I couldn't stand most of them. Briefly it seemed someone would come along that I liked and enjoyed working with, and then though would go, and I'd be more lonely than ever. I still wasn't making friends. I still wasn't making contact with my mother. What was the point? Everyday I'd get up just in time to get to work, and then I'd come home and smoke the night away - often falling asleep in the chair. Sometimes I couldn't face work without a smoke first; I was desperate for a change. 

But after smoking cannabis every day and night for over a year, my mind took on a more sinister and colder voice than I had thought possible. I had dark thoughts - thoughts of murder and violence. I wondered what it would be like to be a dark hero - a crime fighter bent on dealing out pain. My thoughts were getting slow, and my body was hard pressed to do anything much or with any enthusiasm. Even the dealer friend I had known through work stopped coming around when I told him I'd thought about becoming an assassin or hired killer. My mind was so cold and calculated that I didn't care about human life anymore; especially not my own. This went on beyond reckoning, and the days turned into months, and the months mere pools of blackness in my memory. Something had to be done. I was not alone on at work and was responsible for the running of the whole department after 5pm (I now hated responsibility..). At break-time I found myself sitting in the Wines and Spirits Lockup - a strong-walled room with a heavy iron door. No sound would come in or out of that room, and I felt cold and lonely within it. I thought about the knife I carried in my pocket for opening boxes. That knife could cut my wrists all too easily. Nobody would be coming into that place until morning, and that was 15hours away. If I opened my veins there would be nothing to stop it - no second chances - nothing until the end. My mind was now slow. Gone was the madness that incensed me to jump off that high warehouse rack. The craziness and anger was all lost down the endless pit of despair. There was nothing left, only me and my knife... I took several deep breaths and planned every detail so there would be no mistakes. Nobody would miss me. Nobody but my ignorant mother. Just then the great door opened and a small slim man entered. He was looking for a product and didn't see me sitting motionless until he was nearly out of the door again. This was a department manager; his name was Glen Dawson, and he saved my life.

2000 (age 24)

I was at the lowest point in my whole life. I'd failed to commit suicide, and that made me feel like another failure. I hadn't a smile for anybody and stormed around in an angry mood at work on most, if not every, day. New people came and went but I didn't like any of them, and they left because of me. I didn't want anybody around me now, not even Simon got in. I took a couple of weeks off work for my birthday in February, and yet again this time saw a change in the weather. During the break I had a phone call from a woman who organised the schedules at Asda informing me that I'd been moved off Wines & Spirits and would be joining the Home and Leisure department on my return. 'Take another week off,' she said, perhaps knowing that I was in trouble. At first I resented the move, and hated the fact that I'd been shoved around without my knowledge or consent - another excuse to hate work even more. But reluctantly I returned and was installed in a new location. This department was bigger, and had lots of staff to manage it - not just one or two. The lack of stress instantly had an effect, and I soon got to like the friendly old man who managed the section. At first I didn't speak to hardly anybody, but within a month or two, the dark clouds broke enough to let a glimmer of light enter my world - a frail echo; just enough to keep me placing one foot slowly in front of another. I was still desperate for hope and good news to see me though another year. A friendly woman at work gave me the number of a good palmist who she said would be very good for my needs. I went along and sat in the living room of a retired old man who now practiced palmistry to make a living.

Unlike my first experience of clairvoyance, I knew this man was on the level, and by the things he said (which he had no idea I wanted to know), I at last felt more confident and a little more hopeful. At least this man knew I wouldn't go insane - a fear I thought about a lot at that time, and I hadn't even mentioned this to him. (** see Note 1 below). Another thing he mentioned in passing was that I'd be involved in 'spirituality'. I hadn't the foggiest what he meant by this, and hoped I wouldn't end up a born-again head-case. But at least I was open to anything which might help. After that visit, and throughout the rest of that year, my mind slowly stopped swirling and wasn't totally black everyday. Some days I'd feel terrible, but most time I felt down and rejected. All the old pains hadn't gone away, they were just put to one side, or at least some were bottled down and locked away inside vast vaults where they couldn't leak out. I felt a little better then, even though they still affected my moods by their omnipresent overbearing presence. Home life and work life was a blur as I pushed through life as best I could.

Things were far from getting better - I still had that hard climb out of the gutter ahead somewhere. At this time I was on autopilot; walking like a ghost through the world, hardly making a sound as I passed. Often people would say I 'disappeared' in the middle of conversations. I'd just vanish into thin air as if I hadn't existed at all. Maybe at that point I didn't exist - at least not in my mind. The first turning point came that Summer as I found myself wandering though the local library. I didn't know what I was looking for, just something I put put my interest in for a while and take my life in a new direction. I went up and down the isles looking at all kinds of books and topics. Most of them fell well sort of my interest, but there was one section, one small pocket of mystery left in that place, and I found myself looking over the religious books and those on spirituality. Among these one seemed to just out of the pack, and I was so taken by it that I immediately withdrew it and took it home. The piece was named 'Mind to Mind' by Betty Shine, and that book marked the beginning of a whole new world. I read through it and quite a lot of things made sense. This womans life was fantastical - almost bordering on fantasy - but if some of these things were true then what life was out there waiting to be discovered? At least it was a possibility. While I was still half way though that book, my attention was drawn to a Mind, Body, Spirit fair in a town hall in Skipton. I'd just changed the car (for the third time) and invited Simon alone to see what it was all about. As soon as I came into that place I was greeted with a lovely smell and warm atmosphere which lifted my lowly spirits a little. Crystals and healing aid of all kinds met my sensed and it wasn't long before I bought my first Healing Crystal - a Clear Quartz.

In one room I was attracted to a professional alternative counsellor and while Simon was off doing his own thing, I sat down for a session. I poured out my heart to this poor man, half expecting he would 'cure' me right there on the spot. He didn't. But as I left the table a crowd of people were gathered around and one came to talk to me as I went miserably back to the foyer. This girl introduced herself as Debbie, and she too had Depression. Before that day I'd often wondered what it would be like to meet a girl with this terrible affliction, maybe we could help each other? I actually left the building on a high, being dragged from the depths by a faint hope of love and companionship. Not long after, Simon invited me to go to the Glastonbury festival, and said it may cheer me up. I couldn't handle it. Images of all those people turned my stomach over, and I imagined myself fighting for life among them. I hated people still, and couldn't bear to be in cramped spaces with them - Asda was bad enough but at least I could go and hide somewhere else if I needed to. Drugs, music, people I didn't know - it all sounded horrible and I had to be convinced or cajoled into it. At least I could invite Debbie to come along, and maybe this would be a good way to get to know each other.

The day for the off came. I stood with Debbie by the van as she panicked about going on a long journey in such a small space. I did my share of convincing and at last we got in and set off. Down at the festival site we all scrambled over the wall (the last year this was possible thanks to a new wall being built) and went together into a camping field. The atmosphere here was great, and it remembered me of the feelings I'd had at Skipton. Maybe this would work out. But things didn't work out with Debbie. We just didn't click like I'd hoped we would. Small mishaps lead to arguments and we didn't see each other for most of the day. That was a shame, but at least this gave me the opportunity to wander off and find my own feet in this place. Glastonbury festival wasn't threatening at all. In fact the scene was geared towards people of my age-group. The music was good that year, and I tried to get around to all the bands I'd ever heard of. Best of all were the 'green fields'. In here I found all shapes and sizes of new-age spirituality, and some of it was quite interesting. A huge Buddhist tent proved very popular, and I had my first experience of meditation, yoga and chi gung in that very field. It all felt quite natural, and although I didn't know it, this marked the second - and biggest - turning point in my life. From here on in I'd be looking up instead of down, up at the potential of my life within the cosmos. Glastonbury ended, and with it any kind of relationship with Debbie. She was a nice girl, but I didn't regret not taking things further. Now all my hoped pinned on developing myself. I cut the drugs down, and contacted the local FWBO Buddhist center for information on their courses. As luck would have it, they said I could join them for free since I'd had my initiation to meditation at Glastonbury. I jumped in at the deep end and, although I heard rumours that people shouldn't get into meditation if they have Depression, I did it, and along with a series of spiritual self-help books, I headed out of the year 2000 with a renewed hope of a better life.

My mind was still deep in gloom - especially at work - but now I'd found something I was interested in, and which relaxed my mind and body into submission. I'd made new friends, and there was something else also. Philosophy. The Buddhist philosophy was a major attraction and it wasn't long before I branched out of these concepts and began to make my own way though the new world of theory. A spark of positivity glowed in the feeble light of dawn. But I was still at the foot of a very high mountain, and, as the light began to filter though, I found that I could see a faint path which seemed to lead upwards. And so I began my journey, one small step at a time....

Notes

** Note 1. May 2000 - Clairvoyant #2

I couldn't see a way forward, so in desperation I went along to see another clairvoyant, recommended by a work colleague, in the hope of finding out a few answers about my career, my depression, a private life, money worries and a host of other things. He was a genuine man, retired and in his 70's I would have said, and he also knew a lot about his art from obvious years of experience. Among his predictions were the following:

• There is a good job opportunity arising between October (2000) and March 2001. This will be a temporary position and will be introduced to you through a friends suggestion. This may be voluntary work - it certainly won't be a paying job. You won't leave Asda or change anything but this will be good work experience for you.
  [This was Maundy Grange, 2nd Jan 2001]
• Beyond this temporary job, I can see you will apply for a more permanent job, and one which you will really enjoy. This position may involve working in another part of Britain or possibly the world, as I can see you will be living far away from your mother in times to come. This opportunity will begin in your late 20's or early 30's, and will see you secure though your 30's and probably long after that.
• A solid relationship and stability in life will arise after you get to where you're going. You will be introduced to this girl, but you'll know this person already. She'll be a bit younger than you are - you don't mind that do you? And she won't be into spirituality as much as you ... or maybe she will.. in her own way. You'll really like this girl. You're worried at the moment that you won't have time to see this girl because of the hours you are working, but this won't be a problem. You'll definitely be suited to each other, and this will last well into the future [30's]. [Met Rachel at 28]
• Any relationship with any star sign must not be ruled out, but it will not be with a Leo. Be aware that someone born on the cusp of Leo may be ok for you, but definitely NOT a full Leo.
• I can see you will start smoking in the future and fairly regularly. This won't do you any harm.
  Started smoking cigarettes in Nov 2001]
• You're also worried that you might be loosing your mind. You won't. Everything's going to be ok. You'll be alright.
• You will live long into your 80's, will suffer no serious ills and will remain fit and with a naturally slim body.
• You will receive psychic/clairvoyance images.
  [Received insights throughout 2001]
• You will learn about astrology and tarot cards.
  [Given a set of divination equipment and cards 19th April 2001]
• Always ask and you shall receive. Pray, or meditate on matters but at least ask! Don't just ask in one direction [god], ask in all [spiritual] directions.